


I Found Love Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be

by orphan_account



Series: Marvel One Shots [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Alcohol, Bickering, Birthday, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protectiveness, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's a hot July night. Bucky has an interesting idea for Steve's 19th birthday, but as per usual, things don't go exactly as planned.At all. In the slightest.Hilarity ensues and tears are to be had.





	I Found Love Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Humidity thickly lingered through the late night July air, distant bursts of fireworks rattling the loose wooden window frames of Bucky and Steve’s rundown apartment. The streets were buzzing with energy and laughter as excited passerbys cheered on the shows, children traveling down the streets in packs, stopping to point up at the sky in awe. The city was bustling with joy yet the pair had decided to coop themselves up inside their musty apartment, playing round after round of Go Fish. That wasn’t to say their mood wasn’t mirroring the excitement heard outside. 

The familiarity of this day always brought memories back to Steve; memories of Bucky trying too hard to make a big deal out of his birthday. Memories of Bucky surprising him with a homemade cake that his mom had helped with.

 

There was this drugstore - the building the definition of rundown and it’s soda fountain either so busy you’d have to wait an hour for a single seat, or, on the flipside, hardly even a waitress working that day. Their menu was questionably pricey — but as you walked to Bucky’s house, you'd always pass by it, always smell the grills starting up and sweet aroma of ice creams drifting through the open front doors, men leaning against the outer brick with coffee mugs pressed to their mustaches. Bucky had taken Steve there, begged his mom to let him take him there all by himself for Steve’s eighth birthday.

  
  
_“Of course, honey. Be careful, alright?”_ She had said, setting down the dish she’d been washing. _“Get him whatever he'd like.”_

  
  
They’d sat at the counter, practically sharing a stool, reading over the selective menu in wonderment. " _Whatever you want, Stevie. It's your birthday, so get something good, okay?”_ Bucky’d smiled at him, Steve grinning wide-mouthed back

.  
  
_“I wanna share it with you, though. Can we share something?”_

  
  
_“You sure you wanna?”_

  
  
Steve had nodded, a bit too eagerly. “ _Yeah, Buck. I wanna share everything with you._ ” 

And they’d ordered a slice of cake — the plate itself had been larger than Steve’s head, Bucky laughing at the awestruck expression on his face.

  
  
He took Steve there every year. It had become another one of their traditions. Him and his mother would come over early in the morning, and Bucky could never refrain from giving Steve his gift the moment he stepped in the door, hurrying him to open it as Steve's mother would converse with Bucky’s over breakfast. They’d leave by lunch so they could order their usual, and still have room for dinner — a rich cake, it's texture fluffy and chocolate so sweet, melted right in your mouth, hints of coconut and sharp vanilla sprinkled in. Steve always ended up with stomach pains, sometimes to the point of him having to lie down right there in the booth, but that never took the smile off of his face. 

Sometimes he did miss their old traditions, but, he figured they’d start new ones now. And maybe, just maybe, that thought had come too soon, because once Bucky was proposing they’d head downtown to a local bar, Steve could feel his hands grow cold, tingling with uncertainty.

 

Nearly half an hour passed since Bucky had started pestering Steve to go outside for once, that it was ‘good for him’. He was relentless, tugging on his wrist, trying to pull him up from their couch by any means possible. “Buck, I don’t— ,”

 

Steve laughed awkwardly into his collar, craning his neck to avoid Bucky’s unwavering stare. “I don’t know about this.”

 

“S’not like you even gotta drink much,” Steve peered an eye back at Bucky, met by a lopsided grin. “I’m just asking you ‘cause it’s your birthday. C’mon, it’s not gonna be _that_ bad.”

 

Steve pushed his knuckles into his cheek, leaning on his arm. He bit his lower lip, half chuckling. “I don’t know… I wouldn’t even know what’s there to, well y’know,” he shrugged, “drink.”

 

And that got Bucky sucking in his lips like he always did when Steve said something naive,, trying to hold back his laughter. A snort escaped. That got him laughing harder than he intended, body fully shaking as he patted Steve on his shoulder.

 

“What? What did I say? I’m being _serious_ , asshole!” He gestured his hands at Bucky, eyebrows furrowing, mouth agape.

 

“I know you are,” Bucky shook his head, letting out a shaky huff of air. “That’s why I’m laughin’. Not at you.”

 

“Sure seems like it,” Steve crossed his legs, leaning further back into their couch. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

Bucky crouched down, tried leveling himself with Steve. Steve reluctantly accepted his look, meeting his eyes. “Stevie. Just trust me. Just want you to have a good night. Lot better than being stuck in this place. You don’t like it, we can leave, ain’t a problem.”

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Steve felt a burn creeping its way up, his ears tingling and nose prickling. His long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks and he caught himself in the action, clearing his throat almost harshly. “Fine.”

 

“Okay? Okay, great!” Bucky nodded along with his words, smirking something not entirely sweet, but purely genuine. “Get your ass up then Rogers. Take so goddamn long making up your mind.”

 

He pushed himself up from the couch, pulling the taupe jacket his mother made from the wall coat hanger, almost cradling it in his arms instead of actually putting it on. “You’re the one who puts up with me. Not like I’m forcing you to stay. Entirely _your_ fault.”

 

Bucky gave him a good look up and down. Steve again felt those embarrassing prickles spread across his cheeks, feeling like he’d suddenly come down with a fever, sweat nearly beading at his forehead. And when Bucky pulled him into his side, saying to him, “S’not like I could leave even if I wanted to”, Steve swore his breath caught in his throat, hoping not audibly, but Bucky’s look said otherwise.

 

* * *

 

“Steve, just breathe. What do you think’s gonna happen in there, huh? I won’t let you cause any trouble. Promise,” Bucky ruffled his fingers through Steve’s short hair teasingly.

 

Looking around, the streets were busier than he’d expected at this time of night; the streets were littered with people out on the town, beaming with summer reverie, whereas Steve stuck out like a sore thumb. Standing nervously outside the bar, he grasped onto Bucky’s arm like a lost child with a shade of regret for agreeing to such an outing.

 

Bucky sighed, empathetically, lowering his voice to something of a hum. “You wanna just watch the fireworks?” Steve looked at him, his brows again lowering. He felt almost ashamed, definitely embarrassed, but Bucky kept speaking, his voice soothing amongst the cluttered noise.

 

“Remember we use to watch them as kids, every year. Never wanted to miss a show. You’d start throwing a fit if we were even a minute late, leaving your mom behind just to get there quicker,” Bucky chuckled to himself, Steve softly following suit. “Always wanted a better view ‘cause some asshole would be standing in the way, so you’d start begging me to put you on my shoulders like you were my goddamn kid. Always _described_ what they looked like instead of letting me see them, so I just stopped looking all together. Didn’t mind though, liked it better that way.”

 

These summer memories were always something Steve fondly reminisced and as he glanced back up towards the fireworks once more, he let himself breathe finally. “Let’s just go in. You dragged me _all_ the way down here, would be a waste of a trip if we didn’t.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Bucky was grinning ear to ear.

 

* * *

 

Having found two empty seats amongst the crowd, Steve sat fiddling with his fingers out of nervous habit, watching as Bucky made his way over to him. He’d hung up Steve’s coat — not that he even needed it much, but he’d always wear that thing like a security blanket. Bucky coolly tossed his flat cap on the bar, eyeing Steve as he nervously drummed his fingers, squinting towards the unfamiliar bottles of liquor lined along the wall.

 

Bucky leaned to his left, arms crossed flat against the countertop. He’d licked his lips before he hushed, “You know what you wan—”

 

“What’ll you boys be having tonight?” A nicely dressed bartender asked almost sing-song, cutting Bucky off shorthanded. His harsh Eastern New England accent bounced through his words. Steve could feel his eyes growing wider by the second, feeling Bucky’s glance stuck on him.

 

“I, er, uhm...” his cheeks puffed out as he fumbled over his words. Bucky clapped his hand on Steve’s knee, looking to the bartender with a smirk on his face.

 

“We’ll have two screwdrivers then,” Bucky replied coyly. Leaning over the bar, he rested his face in one hand to whisper, “it’s his birthday, by the way.”

 

“Is it now?” The bartender looked over to Steve, turning back to Bucky with a single nod. Playing along, he asked a bit too loud, “Say son, what’s your name?”

 

Steve felt apprehensive at first, but he cleared his throat, his voice cracking as he replied, “S-Steve. Er, Steve Rogers, uh… Sir.”

 

“Right, Steve Rogers. It’ll be on the house— just this once!”, the man announced, winking at him over his shoulder. Steve’s docile gratitude was drowned out by Bucky’s instantaneous shout of excitement, his hand squeezing Steve’s boney knee, the friction causing him to shudder in spite of the warmth of the small bar.

 

“How about that, Stevie? Not so bad, huh?” he asked with a smile, hesitantly lifting his hand back onto the bar.

 

“Buck.” Steve started laughing, scratching at the back of his head.

 

“Yeah?” he said, grin still plastered on his face.

 

“Buck, I don’t —” he gestured vaguely, “The hell’s a screwdriver?”

He smoothed his hair back with a chuckle as he began to explain. “It’s just vodka and orange juice, something I figured even you can handle.”

 

“Even _I_ can handle?” Steve nudged Bucky’s side.

 

“Oh, I’ve seen you handle worse things,” Bucky remarks, raising his brows

 

Steve leaned to the right, his arm resting against Bucky’s shoulder, invading his personal space. He could see Bucky’s nostrils flare as he watched him him lick his lips as if it were in slow motion. He knew he held this cocky look, this mocking demeanor, and he begun to spit back, “Like yo—”

 

Cutting off his retort before it even managed to finish leaving his lips, the bartender landed their drinks with a clatter, jolting him back to his seat. Glancing between the two men seemingly curious, his lips pulled back into a polite grin as he wished Steve a forced “Happy Birthday!” before he was on his way, attending new patrons that piled in, filling up empty seats.

 

Steve rolled his tongue in his mouth, shrugging. “Well… here’s to President Roosevelt.”

 

Bucky scoffed. “You’re a loser, Steve.”

 

“And that’s why I hang out with you, buddy.”

 

“Alright, then — here’s to Roosevelt!”  Bucky clanged his glass with his companion’s, raising his own glass to his lips, bemusedly watching Steve instead as he got ready to take his first sip.

 

Bringing the glass closer to his mouth, he could see how much Bucky was enjoying watching him, that twinkle lighting up in his blue eyes as he gave him a slight nod of the head. Choking on his first sip of the bitter liquor, Steve’s nose scrunched, his tongue immediately jumping out as he exclaimed, “God, you thought I could handle _this?_ ”

 

Bucky took a lingering drink, staring, looking amused yet charmed at the contortions of Steve’s grimaces.

 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, dick,” Steve rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, his head twitching.

 

Setting down his half-empty glass, Bucky mutters through a smile, “I can’t help it when you’re looking like that,” he chuckles to himself.

 

“Pardon me?” Steve let out breathless reply, stomaching another sip of the foul concoction in an attempt to enjoy it for the sake of keeping up with his friend, finding himself grimacing once more.

 

Finishing his drink, Bucky flagged down the bartender for a second round, avoiding Steve’s questioning look.

                                                                                                                                                                                  .

* * *

 

 

And as time ticked by, seemingly all too fast, the pair found themselves to drink after drink as the night went on, giggling among each other as they blathered jokes that held no real meaning to them back and forth. Bucky became more entertained as Steve grew drunker, his skin visibly flushed, relying more on Bucky to hold him up. The nervousness Steve had clung to begun to wash away, finding himself just enjoying being in the company of Bucky.

 

Steve kept a meaningful look in his eyes, gazing at Bucky hazily, “Jamesss.”

 

“What’s the matter, Stevie?” he cooed.

 

“Thanks,” he hiccuped, stroking the tips of his fingers down Bucky’s palm, “for doing this. It’s nice, real nice.”

 

Stifling an uncomfortable laugh, Bucky’s fingers instinctively reciprocated Steve’s touch, sneaking looks of their surroundings.

 

Bucky’s eye wasn’t the only that had caught the attention of Steve; their generous bartender had noticed how enamored they were with each other, watching them from the other side of the bar, arms crossed.

 

“No, really,” Steve’s hands clumsily traveled up the length of Bucky’s forearms, sliding up his sleeves, grasping the collar of his wrinkled dress shirt. He had a goofy smile plastered to him and he couldn’t help giggling over his words. “You just, you mean the world to me, Bucky.”

 

“Shit, Steve… You mean a lot to me too,” Bucky simultaneously grabbed Steve’s wrists with one hand and his wallet with another in panic, “But it’s time to get out of here, okay?”

 

Hurrying to leave cash on the bar, Bucky loosely tossed his hat back on his head, bending to support Steve out of his seat with a tight arm; Steve was clutching the fabric on Bucky’s back as they rushed towards the exit before the suspecting bartender could question them. With his free hand, Bucky grabbed Steve’s coat and subsequently elbowed the door open to step back into the warm night, companion in tow.

 

Steve was blissfully unaware of his surrounding, fumbling over his own two feet. He snorted directly in Bucky’s ear, muttering under his short breaths, “My legs don’t work the same anymore.” He peered up at Bucky, fluttering his eyes. “Gimme a,” he hiccuped, “Gimme a piggy back!”

 

“What — you’re not serious, are you?” he stopped walking to gawk at his drunk friend in bewilderment, only to be met with an all-too-genuine expression beaming up at him.

 

“Yeah, Buck,” he slurred, “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Steve gestured for Bucky to lower to his knees.

 

“Yeah, for _you_ maybe…” Bucky stared, waiting for the punchline where none came. Sighing deeply, he crouched down in the middle of the empty sidewalk. Steve, not being at his most graceful state sloppily climbed onto his back, bumping his head with Bucky’s.

 

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky grunted, linking his arms under the legs quickly being wrapped around his waist. “May not weigh much but you definitely ain’t as small as you use to be,” he said, straining over the long arms suffocating his neck.

 

“It’s _fine_ Buck. Don’t be such a baby,” he pressed his head into the side of Bucky’s, his hat precariously shifting forward, brushing against the ends of his eyelashes.

 

“I’m _not_ —” Bucky started, only to interrupt himself with his own laughter, “Steve, you’re a goddamn mook.”

 

Steve buried his head further into the nape of Bucky’s neck, giggling. There was a break of silence, not too awkward, but it made Steve squirm, and so he just had to open his big mouth.

 

“ ’m fallin’—”, Steve yawned casually, “S’m falling in love with you pal.”

 

Hoisting Steve up more securely, Bucky dismissed the confession: “That’s just the alcohol talkin’, Steven.”

“Nah, Buck ‘m so serious,” Steve shook his head, lips all too soft brushing over the lobe of Bucky’s ear. “I wanna—” his voice dropped to nothing but a hush, whispering to him.

 

Eyes wide, Bucky abruptly elbowed Steve in the stomach, accidently dropping him to the pavement. He swiftly turned to grab his friend after the stark realization of what he’d done— “Fuck, Steve”— he swung his friend’s arm over his shoulder —“You can’t just say shit like that.”

 

Steve’s chin quivered, his lip trembling, face flushed of all color. He mumbled, swallowing the building saliva in his throat loudly, “Oh… sorry.”

 

A heavy silence uncomfortably hung over the two as they trudged their way back down the streets. Steve’s feet clumsily fell behind, dragging in his brogues, slowing them down as Bucky tried to meet his pace.

 

* * *

 

 

 

With an agitated huff of a sigh, Bucky pulled their keys from his front pocket, unlocking the door with one hand, Steve hanging sleepily supported by the other, and led themselves inside.

 

“You realize how that looked?” Bucky roared, tossing Steve onto the couch. “Do you have _any_ goddamn idea what people’ll think? The kinda trouble you’ll get us in?”

 

“Why do you even care what people think? ‘Cause I don’t.”

 

Eyes wild, Bucky sneered: “You _don’t_? What if someone finds out about us, huh? Tries to break into the apartment, busts our heads in. What if someone tries to take you from me, then what am I gonna fuckin’ do?”

 

“I wasn’t —“ Steve swiped the back of his sleeve under his nose, sniffling audibly. He could feel his eyes growing moist, cheeks tickled by tears, throat tightening the more he tried to hold them back. “I don’t wanna get either of us h-hurt. I’m just trying to be fucking _honest_ with you.”

 

Steve flinched as Bucky hurled his hat towards him. Furiously running his fingers through his hair, he fired back: “ _Honest?_ You’re _honestly_ an idiot!”

 

Reluctant tears came flowing down Steve’s face. He grasped at his chest, wheezing through his hoarse words, “If I’m—” he took in a rushed, shaky breath “— _so_ much trouble—“ he coughed into the crux of his arm “—then I might as well get out of your hair.”

 

Taken aback, Bucky took the spot next to Steve with a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant, Steve,” he explains with a derisive look, lifting a hand to Steve’s knobby knee. “I’m trying to protect you, you moron.”

 

Steve cupped his hand over Bucky’s, his nose scrunching as he inhaled sharply, fighting back the urge to cough. “Bucky, I… S’you remember in 6th grade, when I had ta be pulled out of school for a week straight ‘cause I got that virus thing?” he sucked in his bottom lip, slurring, tears still falling, still burning. “Could hardly speak, was running a fever of 105 degrees and my ma kept me in urgent care overnight.” He jabbed at his chest with his free hand, drunkenly, punctuating each individual word that he spoke. “You were there. That whole week. Came to the hospital the second you heard what happened, stopped by our house. Every. Day. With a cup of, well, not always hot, chicken soup. And when—” Steve had a focused look on his face, his chest puffing. “—When my ma passed,” he gripped Bucky’s hand, “you were the one that really asked how I was. Paid for the whole goddamn funeral out of your own pocket. It’s shit like that, that’s what made me fall for you, and I… I-I… I know I’m in love with you, ‘cause you’re everything I’m not.”

 

“Maybe that’s not how you feel, honestly don’t know anymore. I don’t ever wanna get you hurt, know people can’t get it. I just— I don’t wanna haveta pretend what I’m feeling isn’t real when it fuckin’ is,” Steve hesitated to cup Bucky’s defined jaw, his blinking eyes meeting Bucky’s.

 

“You never shut up, do you?” Bucky scoffs at Steve’s faltering gaze. “You think I don’t feel the same fucking way?” he says agitatedly, yanking the collar of Steve’s shirt, pulling him closer. “You don’t think I’m so pissed off because all I want is for you to stay here, so I can protect you?”

 

Steve could feel the warmth of Bucky’s frantic breaths tickle the hairs of his chin. “I don’t need your protecting,” he rubbed his nose against Bucky’s, “Ain’t a kid anymore.”

 

“Me neither.” Bucky breathes, shoving Steve’s back flat against the couch, straddling his hips. His vibrating hands slid the belt from his slacks in haste, fumbling with his zipper in a stupor.

The couple made eye contact once more. Steve was earnest but visibly tired, his eyes reddened and heavy lidded.

 

Easing away, Bucky softly murmured, “This is stupid. You can’t even keep your eyes open. I think it’s time we hit the sack.”

 

“No, no, please, keep going Buck,” Steve shook his head, yawning.

 

With a smirk, Bucky reluctantly raised himself from Steve despite his whiney protesting; pulling Steve to sit him up, gently kissing the top of his head, and subsequently piling the blond into his arms, Bucky started towards the bedroom.

 

Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, still sniffling. “Can you make pancakes in the morning, blueberry ones?”

 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he replied with a sigh, “Fine.”

 

“Buck..?”

 

“What else, Stevie?”

 

Steve lifted his head, gently kissing Bucky’s lips with caution. “It’s okay to say I love you?”

 

“That’s fine, Stevie.” he answered, his voice faltering.

 

“Annnnnd, you love me?” he had a toothy grin.

 

“I might.”

 

“Okay,” he nodded to himself.

 

Bucky closed the door behind them with Steve, once again, in his arms.

 


End file.
